


Unquiet Dreams

by elyssblair



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Post-Movie(s), mention of canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyssblair/pseuds/elyssblair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro believes he is a ghost. Steve thinks Pietro is a figment of his imagination. They're both wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unquiet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> written for Marvel Bang 2015
> 
> Special thanks to LR for being an extremely patient beta.   
> Also deep thanks to candream for the beautiful accompanying art found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5133259)

_Pain stops him in his tracks. Disbelief and shock blooms through him._

_He blinks. Slow. So slow. He hasn't been slow in a long, long time._

_Clint and the child are safe, at least. He did that much._

_His mouth forms words though he can't hear himself over the roar of Wanda's grief in his head._

_His body falls. But he doesn't._

_He's numb as he sees himself on the ground. Confused._

_He blinks, even slower this time and Captain America is holding him. His body, anyway. Carrying it away._

_He blinks again, and the world explodes around him before everything goes black and silent._

_*_

 

Pietro forced his eyes open, but he had no idea where he was. He was still standing, but this was definitely not Novi Grad.

The room was unfamiliar. All white and sterile. Small but filled with people gathered around a long, metal and glass box. He moved through the crowd, some he recognized and some he didn't, though no one seemed to notice him at all. Finally, Pietro caught sight of his sister.

Her hand braced on the box, her head bowed and tears streaking her cheeks.

That's when he realized he couldn't feel it.

He couldn't feel her grief. He couldn't feel Wanda at all. The bond that had connected them since birth had disappeared.

"Wanda?"

She didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge him at all.

"Wanda!"

Anger burned in his gut when he shouted, but still nothing.

"Wanda, what the hell?"

He swore as he pushed closer but stopped when he reached her side and caught sight of what held her attention. The glass top of the box collected her tears in small, perfect circles.

Beneath the blur, though…

Him. His body.

Still in a way Pietro couldn't ever remember being. Blood still spattered around the bullet holes in his clothes. A twinge of phantom pain fired through him before tearing his eyes away to stare at his sister in disbelief.

"Wanda?"

Pietro whispered this time, knowing there would be no answer.

 

*

 

No one other than Wanda had really known Pietro, but they crowded into the small medical storeroom and took turns saying something to honor him anyway.

Wanda never moved from her place beside the stasis pod, back strong, shoulders straight, and hand pressed to the glass separating her from her brother. Loss etched in every breath she took.

Steve recognized the feeling. Like nothing would ever fill the gaping hole left inside you. Like the pain and the grief would never end. Like you didn't want them to, because letting go of the hurt was like letting go of the last bits of them you have left. He wished he could offer her advice, but he still hadn't figured it out how to deal with it either.

One by one, everyone quietly approached her, offering their final condolences before slipping out of the door. Eventually, only Steve was left, and he still hadn't figured out what to say, but he stepped up next her, anyway. For a minute, he just stood there, awkward and silent. There was nothing to say. Nothing anyone ever said to him dulled the sharp knife of losing Bucky. Or Peggy. Or the entire world he'd one known.

Under the glass, Pietro looked exactly like he had when Steve had carried him onto off the Lifeboat and placed him in the outmoded stasis pod because they didn't know what else to do. He wished, now they'd taken a few minutes to clean him up, give him some dignity, before they'd sealed him in.

At the time, though, they weren't sure what else was coming. Or where they were going.

"I know some of the others think it's weird I can't bury him," Wanda said, voice low and raspy with restrained pain.

"No. I mean. We all have to grieve in our own way. Those of us here, we understand that."

"We've never been truly apart. There was never a day I couldn't talk to him, see him. Just be with him."

She inhaled deeply, hands flexing where they pressed on the glass. "Dr. Cho said this stasis pod is obsolete, but it should keep him preserved for several years before we need to think about moving him. Maybe, by then, I'll be able to think about letting go."

She didn't sound too sure of that. Steve didn't blame her. Bucky was the closest thing he'd ever had to a brother, and he had no intention of ever letting that go. He'd never stop looking, never stop trying to find his best friend.

Steve swallowed against the lump threatening to close his throat and put his hand on the pod, pressing the glass over Pietro's heart.

"Pietro has a place here as long as you want him to be here."

Steve wished there was something more to offer than an unused medical storage room. They'd only been in the old Stark facility for a few days, though. Everything was still in the process of being moved, renovated and organized. This was all they had. Maybe, once everything settled down, they could build Pietro a true memorial.

For now, though, things were in flux and would only get more hectic when Tony and Thor left.

Wanda smiled, soft and sad, but also relieved. "Thank you, Steve."

Steve shrugged, feeling like he hadn't done anything to deserve her gratitude. He pressed harder on the glass, guilt and grief from the past and the present getting all tangled up in his head and in his heart. "I didn't get to know him. But he was a good man."

She raised her eyebrow at him, a shade of disbelief in her eyes.

Steve shrugged again. "Sometimes good people make bad decisions because it's the only option they have. Eventually, you both made the right decisions and that is the important thing."

Steve had felt a kinship with them before he even met them. Back when they were the enemy and Maria Hill explained who they were. The choices they'd made. The options they'd faced. He made the same choices. He'd been lucky he'd to have Peggy, Erskine, Stark, and Colonel Phillips instead of von Strucker. He  easily might have ended up in a much worse place.

Wanda nodded and spread her fingers over the glass, brushing them back and forth, like she wanted to push the stray lock of hair off Pietro's face. Then she squared her shoulders and pulled her hand away.

"Time to go, I suppose."

Her features hardened into stoic resolve, then she reached out, pushing the button that would turn the pod's glass opaque. She pressed her fingers to the fading view of her brother one last time before heading to the door without looking back. Steve followed, shivering a little when the lights dimmed as they moved out of the room.

Something cold pressed against his side and Steve paused in the doorway. He looked back and around, but nothing was there. The room looked spooky with only the diagnostic lights of the stasis chamber casting eerie shadows. Obviously the atmosphere and the conversation had gotten to him.

 

*

Pietro stayed close to Wanda and tried not to look at himself while he half-listened to her conversation with Captain America.

He kept trying to poke her to get her attention. But she didn't react to anything. The fabric of her shirt didn't even move when he touched. He couldn't feel texture or temperature or anything but simple resistance with anything he touched.

He wanted to shout. To scream. But it wouldn't matter. Pietro was dead, apparently. A ghost. Not even their bond had survived. If he'd ever believed anything was eternal, he'd believed the connection he had with Wanda would never fail.

When they finally left, Pietro trailed behind them, hoping like hell he wasn't bound to this tiny, depressing room for the rest of his afterlife.

Focused on keeping up with his sister, Pietro bumped into Steve and bounced back. He rubbed his shoulder, irritated at the unfairness of pain when he wasn't even alive. He glared his frustration at the behemoth, looking up in time to see Steve shiver, carefully touch the side Pietro had run into and glance around. After a moment, Cap frowned and followed Wanda out the door.

Pietro knew something odd had just happened, but Wanda was already halfway down the corridor and he didn't want to lose sight of her. He followed her around the facility and wondered where they were. How they had gotten there.

He was trailing behind her, when she turned into a room unexpectedly. By the time he caught up, the door closed, and he bounced off. It took him an hour or two of trying before he figured out how to focus on his body enough to phase through the door. She was already asleep, by then, so Pietro passed the night trying to remember every ghost and afterlife story he'd ever heard. None of them gave him any insight into what to do, now.

When the sun rose, he trailed Wanda through the halls again like a lost puppy when she headed for breakfast.

Pietro spent the following days alternately following Wanda around, getting to know the facility and trying to interact with anyone and everyone he saw. The only person who ever reacted to his presence at all was Captain America.

After week of increasing frustration and tired of watching Wanda sleep, Pietro found himself wandering the dark, quiet corridors at night.

When he passed the door to Cap's quarters, Pietro paused then gave in to his curiosity and slipped inside.

Rogers shifted and twitched in his sleep, obviously caught in the middle of an unsettling dream. Pietro recognized the restlessness. His sister had tossed the same way every night since their parent's death. No doubt, he had too. When he still could sleep.

Unthinking, Pietro touched Cap's forehead the way he would Wanda's. Or Wanda would him. Steve stilled, turned into touch.

 

Then everything went black around Pietro. Again.

 

This time was different, though. He was still aware. But that only made it more unsettling. Alone, in the dark with no idea how he got there or how to get out. Automatically, he whistled an old lullaby he and Wanda used to reassure each other whenever things got grim.

A shadow moved in the darkness as soon as he started, however, and Pietro tensed. But when the shape turned, the darkness lessened around it, and Steve Rogers stood in void with him.

*

 

When he managed to sleep lately, Steve rarely found it restful. His body felt heavy, exhaustion slowing his movements and making him sluggish. The aftermath of Ultron and Sokovia tainted everything. And he hadn't been able to shake all the emotions stirred up by Pietro's memorial. I week later and the memory still hummed in his head, reminding of his own losses. His own loneliness. His own pain.

One thing the army had taught him, and SHIELD reinforced, he needed to sleep when he had the chance. He never knew when he'd get called into action. So he flopped backwards onto his bed and closed his eyes, not bothering to get undressed after yet another long day of training with the new team.

He tossed and turned a few times, but eventually his mind quieted until he slipped into sleep.

Unfortunately, his dreams were as restless as his waking mind. Reliving Ultron's attack until Sokovia merged into New York and unbeatable robots became unbeatable aliens. He fought and fought as the skies grew darker, but there was no end to the enemy. At least, not until the shadows above swept down, pulling him alone into the darkness.

He tumbled slowly in the blackness, for what seemed like hours. Or maybe seconds.

When he finally got his feet under him, Steve took a minute to catch his breath and recognize his surroundings.

Or lack of.

It was the same dream that plagued him for months after he'd first woken from the ice. A chilly, black nothing. A feeling of being caught between.

Between _what,_ he had no idea.

He was pretty sure he'd dreamt of the darkness when he'd been _in_ the ice, but, thankfully, he didn't actually remember that.

As he'd acclimated to the twenty-first century, he'd had the dream less and less. To find himself stuck back in it was infuriating.

"Damn. Not again." Steve ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "Not here again."

A heartbeat, an hour or a century later, a quiet whistle carried a haunting tune into his isolation.

Steve jumped and spun around, heart hammering in surprise. He'd always been alone in these dreams. Completely along. Desperate. Abandoned. Bereft.

He blinked at the person now sharing the darkness with him.

"Oh. It's you. I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Pietro frowned at him. "Why not?"

"Your memorial. It's been on my mind a lot. A reminder of death. Of when I was as good as dead."

"Is that what this place is supposed to be?" Pietro looked around at the nothingness, a faint smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. He looked more curious than concerned. "The realm of death?"

Steve cleared his throat. He'd always been a little unsure of that, himself. "I think it's just a metaphor."

He hoped anyway.

*

"That's kind of depressing."

Steve shrugged, frowning in embarrassed agreement. "When I had this dream before, I'd just wait to wake up."

"Now that is _really_ depressing. Let's walk."

He picked a direction at random and Steve fell into step beside him.

After a few minutes, Pietro couldn't stand the unchanging view or the oppressing silence.

"So, you've had this dream before?"

"Uh, yeah. A lot. At first. Then again when—"

Steve bit his lip and glanced away to stare at a spot of darkness exactly like all the others.

"'Again when' what?" Pietro asked. He waited for an answer then rolled his eyes when guilt tightened Steve's features. His eyes hardened in resolve, like he was protecting a deep dark secret.

"Oh, come on. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone. I'm a ghost, remember?"

"Don't think you're a ghost," Steve answered though his voice sounded thoughtful, and his pace slowed. "Pretty sure you're a subconscious figment of my imagination."

Pietro didn't bother to argue. He didn't feel like a figment. But Steve seemed to be the only person he could interact with so, for all he knew, he could be.

"Either way, not going to be talking to anyone else anytime soon," he said, falling back into step with the Captain.

Steve took a deep breath before he finally met Pietro's eyes.

"The last time I had this dream, I had just had an encounter with an old friend. It didn't go well."

"Ah," Pietro smirked, understanding the Captain's reluctance to talk about it. "The Winter Soldier."

"What do you know about him? Where is he?" Steve stopped abruptly, hands grabbing Pietro's shoulders in a bruising grip. The warmth of the Steves's skin, the calloused texture of his fingers shocked him with sensation. So much more than the simple resistant of anything he'd tried to interact with.

The shock of being touched left Pietro speechless, and a little breathless, for a moment. In this place, where nothing was real, contact with another human being overwhelmed him.

But the desperate, pleading look and hard grip of the Captain's fingers kept Pietro grounded.

"Whoa, Rogers. I only know what I overheard. Von Strucker was furious when Pierce failed. Even angrier that they'd lost an asset like the Winter Soldier. I don't actually know anything."

"Sorry," the Captain said, hands flexing for a second on Pietro's shoulders before he lifted them away.

"Sorry," he repeated but continued to stand close, looking a little lost. His eyes were wide and his mouth pinched. The pain and loss and confusion almost vibrated from his skin.

"No big deal," Pietro said with a smirk. "I'm dead, remember? Can't do too much damage."

He reached out, intending to pat Steve on the shoulder. But the solid feel of connection, of reality, had him curling his hand around Steve's bicep and hanging on.

Steve didn't seem to mind the touch. Actually, he seemed to welcome it, shifting a breath closer to Pietro.

"Why am I dreaming about you?"

The question was quiet and Steve looked surprised. Like he hadn't expected to say the words out loud.

"Told you, you're not dreaming about me. I'm haunting you."

Steve shrugged like he didn't buy it but wasn't going to argue. "Why?"

"Have no idea. I can't seem to talk to anyone who's awake, though."

"Not even Wanda?"

Pietro closed his eyes, grimacing against the sharp wave of loss. He tried to touch her a hundred times in the past week, awake or asleep. Nothing like this had ever happened.

"No. Apparently not," he snarled.

Steve winced then leaned closer, his hand circled Pietro's wrist, echoing the hold Pietro still held on his other arm.

"I'm sorry."

A faint buzzing sound vibrated through the darkness and Pietro tensed, looking around for an attack.

"What the hell is that?"

"My alarm clock, I think," Steve said, sounding farther away than he should.

Pietro wasn't sure if he was fading or if Steve was, but the places where they touched became less and less solid and the darkness covered them until nothing but shadows remained.

A moment later, Pietro was standing next to Steve's bed watching him slam a hand down on his alarm clock to silence it.

With a groan, Steve pushed the covers back and swung himself around to sit on the edge of his bed. He paused there, dropping his head into hands.

"Steve," Pietro said quietly, hoping against hope.

But there wasn't even a twitch of reaction.

"Steve!"

He knew shouting wouldn't make a difference but frustration shoved aside common sense. He put his hand on Steve's shoulder and pushed but the man didn't move. And Pietro was back to experiencing nothing but pressure. He saw his hand on the Captain's bare shoulder, but there was no warmth of skin. No bulk of muscle. It was like his hand rested on nothing at all.

"Damn it," he muttered and pulled his hand away, unnerved by the sensation.

Beside him, Steve had gone completely still. He lifted his head, eyes darting around the room before he frowned. He shook himself then pressed his hands to the bed and stood up.

"Figment of my imagination," Steve muttered and headed into the bathroom.

Pietro considered following, but Steve wouldn't hear him anyway. And watching the Captain shower seemed creepy.

Instead, he concentrated on getting himself out of the room then headed out to find his sister.

*

Steve leaned heavily against the tile of the shower and let the hot water beat down on his back. The dream still clung to him, so real he could have sworn he felt Pietro in the room when he woke up.

Part of him wanted to believe Pietro was a ghost. That some bit of the man's soul survived. Despite all the crazy things he'd seen since waking from the ice, though, nothing made him believe the dream wasn't twisted way for his psyche to endure the latest ordeal.

He felt such kinship for Wanda and Pietro. He understood the desperate willingness to trust the military and science to give a normal person extraordinary abilities to protect the world. But he hadn't gotten a chance to get to know Pietro, not really. Wanda was still grieving, and he'd feel like a heel talking about anything that might bring her pain back to the surface. Still, he couldn't help wishing for a chance to talk to someone who might understand at least one aspect of his ridiculous life.

 Which made him a selfish son of a bitch. The guy had given himself over to protect his people. He'd given his life to save Hawkeye and an innocent kid. He deserved peace.

Not Steve working through his own guilt and pain with some pathetic, delusional dreams.

So, even if his eyes were gritty and his body was heavy from a restless night's sleep, he was not going to crawl back into bed. Because he might try to tell himself he needed more rest, what he wanted was to have that dream again.

When he finished showering and dressing, he headed straight for the mess. Knowing caffeine had little effect on him and kicking the habit of reaching for it first thing in the morning anyway were two very different things.

"Good morning, Captain."

Of course, Wanda walked in right behind him, and he resisted the urge to duck his head and run. He couldn't help the faint heat of guilt that lodge in his chest, even if he hadn't done anything to feel guilty about.

They exchanged a quick greeting, but, thankfully, she was distracted by Natasha. He managed to escape and find a quiet table to eat in solitude.

After scarfing down his breakfast, Steve headed for the gym, hoping the destruction of a few punching bags would purge the weird mood from his system.

For a second, though, he hesitated at the junction that would take him to the medical wing. And Pietro's memorial.

Part of him wanted to see Pietro. To remind himself what he'd experienced wasn't real.

Instead, he turned resolutely toward the gym.

*

When Pietro found Wanda's room already empty, he meandered through the facility until he found her in the cafeteria. He wandered along the buffet line on his way to her table, cursing the taunting scent of cinnamon rolls and pancakes that couldn't even touch, let alone taste.

Tentatively, he took an empty seat next to his sister, who was deep in conversation with Natasha. It was weird to be sitting, yet to not feel the shape of the chair beneath him.

He watched Rogers, alone in the far corner, seemingly lost in thought while he wolfed down his food. Objectively, the man was gorgeous. And physical attractiveness had always been high on Pietro's criteria.

He didn't realize how long he'd been staring at Rogers until Wanda and Natasha stood up. He turned his attention back to them as they cleared their dishes and talked about taking a trip into the nearby town.

Not wanting to be left alone, yet again, Pietro followed them down to the garage and slid into the back seat. As they made their way down the lengthy drive, something pinched tighter and tighter in the center of Pietro. At the same time, shadows from gathering clouds darkened the interior of the car.

Except, when he looked out the window, the early morning sun shone brightly around them and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

The facility faded from sight behind them long before they drove through the heavy gates that protected them from the outside world. When the car turned onto the main road and sped up, the pinch in Pietro's chest became a tug and the shadows became overwhelming darkness.

 

There was a final, wrenching yank and everything stopped.

 

When Pietro blinked back into awareness everything was still dark. After a moment, though, it was obvious this was a normal lack of light and not the disturbing phenomenon in the car. His eyes adjusted to the small amount of ambient light and he knew where he was.

His tomb.

The faint light was coming from the indicators on the stasis pod that showed it was continuing to function.

Wanda. Where had she and Natasha gone? Had what happened only affected him because of his unnatural state?

Needing to be sure, he rushed out of the windowless room in search of his sister. Pietro rushed through the dimly lit halls and realized it was dark because night had fallen. Somehow, he'd lost hours between the car ride and coming back to his senses next to his make-shift coffin.

In her room, Wanda was safe and sound, getting ready for bed. No signs of worry or stress beyond the melancholy resignation she always carried now. That broke his heart every time.

Whatever had happened, had happened to him alone.

He retreated from Wanda's quarters, wandering the silent hallways as he considered the situation.

His best guess was that he could only get so far from the remains of his body before he was yanked back. Considering it had taken over twelve hours to get from the gates to the center of the facility, it wasn't a theory he wanted to test again.

So, he was stuck.

What happened if Wanda moved on but left his body here? Panicked shook through him and his thoughts of being stuck, alone for eternity became a chaotic spiral.

What would happen when her heart finally healed enough that she was ready for closure? When she chose to give him a final resting place? What if his spirit remained only because his body was still in stasis? Would he move on when nature was allowed to take its course? Did he want to?

Uncomfortable and unhappy, he pushed the harrowing conjecture away and headed for Captain America's room.

He'd rather entertain himself by irritating Rogers than dwelling on a future he had no control over.

When he let himself through the door, Pietro paused to admire the artistry of the super soldier serum. Steve Rogers was a vision of the perfection of the human form. Lying on the bed with just a thin sheet covering his waist and one leg, he was a sight to behold. Hard muscle, smooth skin, sharp planes and enticing curves of muscles played in perfect balance to create a work of art.

But he hadn't come here to ogle. He'd come to escape the oppressive fears snaking through his thoughts.

Slipping into Steve's dream was as easy as it had been the day before. The tense knot eased and he could, metaphorically breathe again just knowing he was no longer alone. Only a little disappointed to find dream Steve in a t-shirt and jeans, unlike his sleeping counterpart.

Like the day before, Steve didn't notice him at first. He just stared into the darkness, frowning with stone-faced resolve that held a hint of desperation around the edges. Pietro understood that feeling well.

After the bombings, he'd never liked the dark. Never liked feeling trapped. Being kept in von Strucker's cage 'for his own good' while they experimented made the itch under his skin worse. Out of habit, he whistled the old lullaby again and Steve turned in surprise.

"You're back," Steve said, taking a half step closer.

The way his tense expression eased and his face lit up with joy and welcome took Pietro by surprise. The Captain's relief was palpable to Pietro. He hadn't expected Steve to be as happy to see him as he'd been to see Steve.

"Yeah, well, I had nothing better to do," he said and shrugged. But he stepped closer, too.

A second later, he found himself wrapped up in an unexpected hug. He allowed himself to wallow in it for a minute. The sensation was so different from what he experienced in the waking world. The softness of the cotton, the warmth to the muscle, the soothing stroke of Steve's hand on his back. It was clear and real and tangible.

He took a deep breath, filing away the sense memory to hopefully counteract he weirdness of not-touching in the real world.

The hug ended too soon and Pietro held himself in check, swallowing down the unexpected neediness and focused on the weirdness instead.

"Huh. I can't interact with things in the outside of your dreams. When I touch, everything just feels like the same kind of pressure. Not hot or cold. Not soft or hard. Just there. If I focus hard enough, I can push myself through things," he mused, then grinned as a new thought occurred to him. "Hey, I bet since I can actually touch things here, I can actually eat something too. Got any food lying around?"

Steve rolled his eyes, then held up empty hands. "Sorry, fresh out."

"Too bad. Those cinnamon rolls smelled fantastic this morning. Spicy and sweet, the steam still rising off of them. Or any of the pastries. Not picky. Just something gooey and sugary…"

He broke off abruptly when a plate appeared in Steve's hand, two hot cinnamon rolls, oozing with icing filling up the entire thing.

"How did you do that?"

"I don't know," he answered, staring down at the plate like he was trying to figure out if they were friends or foes.

"You were describing them, and I just pictured them in my head. Wished I could give them to you." He ducked his head, a hint of pink staining his cheeks. "Then there they were."

"Well, however you did it, they smell delicious."

He grabbed one off the plate and took a healthy bite. They were perfect. Spice and sugar and delicate dough. He may have moaned a little when he took the second bite.

Steve smiled and reached for the second one but Pietro slapped him away with his free hand. "Knock it off. That's mine. You can have all you want tomorrow."

A pout formed on his lips, but Steve couldn't quite hold back the laughter as Pietro finished off both pastries in record time.

He licked his fingers clean of every crumb. Then he looked up at Steve who was still watching him closely.

"So, since you can create food out of thin air, do you think you can move us to someplace less depressing?"

"I don't know. I thought I tried. Before. But maybe…"

He closed his eyes and, a moment later, light shimmied to life around them. The cavernous room was filled with a soft glow. Chairs and tables edged the open dance floor. It looked like a ballroom out of some old period movie.

Or out of Captain America's memory.

They were the only two people there.

"Well, this is slightly less depressing."

"Yeah," Steve murmured, looking a little haunted. "Yeah, it really is. Tell me where you want to go."

Pietro only had to think about it for a second before he answered. "Stark's lab was all I got to see, last time I was in New York. Show me your hometown, Cap."

Another moment of concentration and they were on a busy street. The hum of life all around them.

Pietro was pretty sure this wasn't what Brooklyn looked like today, but they had fun roaming the streets anyway. As Steve pointed out landmarks and shops and favorite haunts.

Much too soon, the buzz of the alarm clock pulled them back to reality.

Like yesterday, Pietro stood, invisible on the sidelines and watched Steve wake up.

As much as he wanted to reach out and touch Steve, they both found it too disconcerting. Instead, Steve headed into his bathroom and Pietro headed out to find his sister.

In the days that followed, the same pattern played out over and over again. Pietro would follow his sister and explore the Avengers new facility during the day. At night, he'd wander into Steve's dreams. The two of them would talk and laugh and pretend everything was normal in the make believe world of Steve's dreamscapes.

*

Steve found himself looking forward to bedtime more and more. Training, covertly searching for Bucky and dealing with Fury kept him going from breakfast until well past dinner. It was more than the growing weight of exhaustion and responsibility that had him falling into bed with anticipation, though.

It was the promise of seeing Pietro. Sharing time and conversation and understanding made the dragging lethargy from a less than restful night worthwhile every morning.

Pietro always greeted him with a touch. Whether a hand on his shoulder or pat on the back. Tonight, Steve couldn't hold back his curiosity when Pietro arrived and immediately pulled him into a one-armed hug.

"You didn't strike me as demonstrative… before. I wonder why I imagine you that way, now."

"Imagine?"

Steve sighed, scrubbing his hand over his eyes. As much as he liked to pretend otherwise, it probably wasn't healthy.

"You're something I dream. You're my subconscious trying to tell me something."

Pietro threw back his head and laughed.

"What on earth could you possibly learn from me invading your dreams? The truth, whether you want to believe it or not, is that I'm a ghost. If anything, all this," he waved his hand vaguely in the darkness. "All this is probably the Universe trying to tell _me_ something."

Steve opened his mouth to argue but Pietro rolled his eyes and bumped their shoulders together.

"C'mon. You're always melancholy in the depressing nothingness. A shift in scenery should cheer you up. How about Paris at night?"

With a shrug, Steve decided to let it go. His dreams weren't hurting anyone, and he hadn't been this content since he went into the ice.

"Not sure you'd like the Paris in my memory. How about someplace warm, instead?"

He and Natasha had had a mission that involved meeting one of her contacts on a small Caribbean island and Steve had never forgotten the beauty of it.

The darkness shifted to an empty beach, limned with a pink and gold sunset. Warm breezes and the soft lap of waves soothed away the last of the day's tensions. Pietro tipped his head back and smiled. Steve couldn't help shifting a little closer and leaning his shoulder into Pietro.

Hmm. Maybe it was his own need to touch, and be touched, that his subconscious was using Pietro to demonstrate. There had been much time or opportunity for casual affection in his life.

For a moment, the seascape flickered and the empty ballroom surrounded them. With a grimace, Steve shoved the momentary melancholy back down he where kept it locked away and focused on the pleasure of the here and now.

Even if it was just his overactive subconscious.

The beach scene solidified again but from the corner of his eye, he caught Pietro looking at him with curious concern.

"What is it with you and that ballroom anyway?"

"I. There was a girl. In the war. She promised to teach in a dance after we won. I didn't make it to our date." Steve dropped his head and tears prickled at his eyes. "That place. When your sister gave us the hallucinations I saw that place. Saw Peggy there. I realized I was still holding onto a dream I'd never have."

Pietro stepped closer and put his hand on Steve's back. The warmth was steadying. Calming.

"I'm sorry," Pietro murmured. "She thought. We thought…"

"You thought you were doing the right thing."

"Yeah," Pietro whispered, regret and sorrow darkening the soft word.

"It worked out all right. You and Wanda realized you made a mistake and made it right. You saved the world. And I knew, deep down, that dream was over long before I ever got pulled from the ice. I needed to face it, so I could figure out a new dream for myself."

"Do you have one, yet?"

"No."

His voice broke a little when he realized it was a lie. He did have a new dream. One as unattainable as the old one. Because Pietro wasn't any more real than his might-have-beens with Peggy.

Pietro's arm wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. They stayed like that, Steve leaning into the solid, reassuring embrace. Pietro hummed a soothing melody against his cheek.

"Are you singing me a lullaby?" Steve asked, when the lump in his throat eased enough to speak.

 "I suppose I am. My mother would sing it to us when we were frightened or sick. When we were trapped in the rubble waiting for Stark's bomb to explode, we sang it over and over. Like a charm to protect ourselves."

 Pietro sighed and forced himself to speak around the grief tensing his throat. "When we first got our powers, I couldn't control myself. The energy would just build up and I'd have to move. I couldn't stop. The more agitated I got, the worse it would get. It felt liked being trapped again. This time in my own body. Wanda would sing it through the walls to help me calm down. I did the same when her talents overwhelmed her. I guess it became a habit to hum it around someone who was hurting."

"Thanks. It did help," Steve said, shifting to press his forehead against Pietro's.

"Good."

They were so close, Pietro's breath ghosted over his lips. Any movement, any hint would bring them even closer. Connect them.

Earsplitting klaxons broke the moment and red washed over the seascape around them. Steve blinked and opened his eyes to dark of his bedroom strobed with red, signaling a call to assemble.

No hint or sign of Pietro. Like always.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wanted to ignore everything and go back to sleep. Instead, he swung out of bed. No matter how bad he felt at the moment, it paled in comparison to what people were enduring somewhere to have triggered that alarm.

*

Waiting was always hard when Pietro was alive. Dead, it was fucking impossible. There wasn't anything to do while the Avengers were off avenging. He drifted from gym to cafeteria to control room, eavesdropping and worrying.

He'd overheard enough to know that a scientist calling himself Beastmaster had 'liberated' a zoo and was using the animals to loot the diamond district. It should have been simple. The wannabe villain was no match for Steve alone, let alone the entire team. But they'd been gone for hours and the command staff in the control looked as tense as Pietro felt.

Or, would have felt, if he had an actual fucking body.

By the time the Quinjet landed in the hangar, his frustration level at being left behind had pushed him right to the edge of his limit. And when they poured off the plane looking healthy and whole, it made him want to hug Steve and his sister in relief.

The fact that he couldn't just made him cranky again.

He followed Wanda to make sure everything was okay, but when she headed to the cafeteria with Natasha, he turned back and looked for Steve.

Wilson had pulled him to the side, talking fast and looking serious. Steve stood tense and frowning next to him. A hint of guilt kept his eyes from meeting Sam's.

Curious, Pietro moved closer.

"— and in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you look tired. You have bags under your eyes I could pack my wings in. When was the last time you slept, Steve?"

"I sleep every night," Steve answered through gritted teeth, still not looking at Wilson.

"Obviously not well. Your reflexes were for shit out there. You _missed_ Beastmaster. When was the last time you missed _anything_ with your shield?"

Steve stiffened, his back ramrod straight and his eyes shuttered out any hint of emotion.

"I know it was my fault Beastmaster got away. I take full responsibility. It won't happen again."

"Oh, for—" Wilson wiped his hand over his face in frustration. "That's not what I meant. I'm worried about you, Steve. Even super-soldiers need to sleep sometime. If you're having trouble, go see medical."

"It's not like they can give me a sedative. It won't work on my metabolism, remember?"

"Maybe not. But they can check to see if something is physically wrong. Or suggest some relaxation techniques. Or something."

"Or send me for a psych eval?"

Pietro shivered at the doubt underlying the caustic question. Bad enough if his dream visits were endangering Steve's health. Worse if he was causing the man to doubt his own sanity.

"You've been through a lot, Steve," Wilson put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "I'm worried about you. That's all. Just, try to get some sleep tonight. Beastmaster will be back, sooner than later. Or someone worse. We need you in top form."

Squeezing his eyes closed, Steve didn't say anything but some of the tension drained out of him. Shoulders hunched, he nodded then turned and headed for his quarters. Wilson watched him go with worried eyes.

So did Pietro. He wanted to run after Steve, to meet him on their beach. Cheer him up. Reassure him. Pick up whatever it was going on between them when the alarm wrenched them apart.

But Wilson was right. Now that he'd looked, he could see the exhaustion and weariness Steve had been trying to hide.

Whatever was happening in those dreams, Steve wasn't getting the rest he needed.

So Pietro ignored his own selfish needs and resolved to stay away for a few days. Let Steve catch a few good nights' sleep. Then he'd visit again and see what that beach looked like when the moon rose.

It was hard. And lonely. Steve looked more rested and refreshed every day that passed. But he also grew quieter, and unhappy lines formed around the tight-lipped frown he perpetually wore.

After a week, Pietro couldn't stand his own need for contact or the melancholy that trailed Steve around like a pet cloud.

Pietro waited impatiently in the dark of Steve's quarters until his breathing evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

As soon as he slipped into the darkness where they always met, Steve was there, pulling him into a tight hard hug.

Then Steve's hands moved to his shoulders and pushed him back to arm's length.

"Where have you been?"

*

"Where have you been?"

Steve heard the whine and desperation in his voice but he couldn't help it.

"Ah, Cap," Pietro drawled with a smile. "Did you miss me?"

"Yes. Damn it," Steve dropped his hands and looked at Pietro, just letting the joy of seeing him again surge through him. The air shimmered and the sunset beach appeared. "Yes. I've missed you."

"Oh." Pietro inhaled sharply, eyes widening a little in surprise. "Sorry. It's just, I was worried. Even super-soldiers need to sleep, right?"

The words caught him off guard, icing over the warm and relief Pietro's appearance had triggered.

"That's what Sam said to me."

"Well, yeah. And he was right."

Of course he was. And Steve's dutiful subconscious had gone to work. Kept him from dreaming about a man who didn't exist any longer. And when his body had caught up, his imagination was free to conjure up Pietro, again. But if this was all only in his head, then he could be honest.

"I did miss you. I thought the dreams had stopped for good and I was terrified. I barely even knew the real you, but I was mourning my imaginary friend."

Pietro stepped forward, hands clutching Steve's shoulders in a mirror of Steve's hold on him a moment before. His eyes were bright with intensity when he pressed his forehead to Steve's.

"You do know the real me. Better than anyone but Wanda ever has."

This time, no alarm, no call to assemble, no uncertainty was going to interrupt them. Nothing was going to stop the kiss from happening.

Their mouths met in a sweet press of heat. Steve was careful at first, tentative and unsure, but Pietro was having none of that. He pulled hard against Steve, lips crushing and demanding, open-mouthed and greedy. His hands slipped under the cotton of Steve's t-shirt, pressing hot and hard against skin. Steve gasped and shuddered and Pietro laughed hotly. He shifted even closer, nipping at his lip then along Steve's jaw as he maneuvered them both to the ground. Steve had a fleeting thought hard ground, scratchy sand and suddenly they were on a generous bed. The room was dark and obscured beyond the billowing curtains.

Above him, Pietro took in their new surroundings and chuckled.

"So conventional, Cap."

He opened his mouth to snark back, but lost the words on a choking moan. Pietro trailed hot lips, slick tongue and sinful bites, just the right side of pain, down his neck, his chest and across his abs. 

Only when Pietro reached the waistband of jeans did Steve realize his shirt was gone. He took a moment to wonder if Pietro had gotten rid of it, or if he'd wished it away like the sand.

Then his fly snapped open and Steve forgot everything but the hot breath ghosting across his straining dick.

His fingers slid into soft, pale hair, careful and gentle despite the tortuous, blissful way Pietro's tongue twisted and swirled around him. He whimpered and whined, teeth sinking into his lip to keep himself from arching up and shaking apart when they'd barely even started.

Then Pietro sucked hard, sliding down and surrounding him. Steve felt lost and treasured and could no longer keep from begging.

"Please, Pietro, I want… I need…"

Pietro's mouth slipped off of him and he stared hard across Steve's.

"Tell me," he demanded in a rough, raw voice that made Steve shiver. "Tell me what you want. What you need."

"You. Please. Want you. Want you to fuck me."

 Fevered heat flushed his cheeks when the words burst out of him. He'd never voiced that desire out loud. Rarely even let himself think about what it would be like. But he wanted.

Wanted it now. Wanted with Pietro.

Pietro looked stunned, and Steve's stomach twisted, worried he'd done something wrong. Then the deep, satisfied smirk spread across Pietro's sinful mouth and a possessive sparked flared in his eyes.

"Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I can do that," Pietro said, sounding smug and breathless. "You got any lube in this love den you conjured up?"

Steve blinked.

"Never mind," Pietro muttered and reached for something in the folds of rumpled bedding. "Captain America, boy scout. Always prepared. Even in his dreams."

He flicked open a cap while talked. The first touch of his finger was electric, Steve's whole body lighting up from the intensity. The sensations built until every muscle trembled. Until Steve was a twisting, moaning, gasping mess.

"Please."

The desperate plea burst out him on a ragged breath.

"Impatient. I'm trying to be careful," Pietro murmured. His fingers curled and twisted inside Steve, sending a lightning bolt of need along every nerve in his body.

"Super soldier, remember?" Steve gasped around the sensation. "Don't need you to be careful. Need you to fuck me."

This time he didn't beg, he demanded. All the bashfulness and uncertainty washed away in tidal wave of want swallowing him.

"Whatever you need, Steve."

His fingers slip out and Steve groaned at the sudden emptiness. But it only lasted a second before Pietro was there. Over him. Inside him. Surrounding him.

He couldn't think. Everything in him hummed with the cascade of pure sensation sparking through him like starbursts. The only thing he knew, the only thing he felt, the only thing he wanted was Pietro.

*

Pietro drowsed on the decadent bed. Steve sprawled over him, head resting on his shoulder and pressing light kisses on his collarbone, fingers tracing delicate patterns on his hip. Pleasure soaked into every inch of him as they floated on the residual bliss that had claimed them both.

The sex had been amazing. Not that Pietro had expected anything different from dream-sex. But this… this quiet moment, alone together. It was unlike anything he'd experienced.

Steve shifted, tilting his head to look at Pietro with sweet, honest smile, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Didn't see that coming."

Pietro groaned a shoved at Steve's shoulder. Not enough to dislodged him or disturb their comfortable position. Just enough to let him know he wasn't as funny as he thought he was.

Steve chuckled anyway and pressed his hand into Pietro's stomach. For a minute or two, Steve focused on brushing his fingertips along Pietro's skin, and the humor in his face shifted to a more thoughtful expression.

"Have you done this before?"

"What, sex? Or sex with a man? Yes to both. In a dream, with a super-soldier? That's new for me."

Steve bit his lips, eyes locked on his hand, drawing an invisible, intricate design on his skin. And avoiding looking at Pietro.

"I haven't. With a man before," Steve said, word stilted and halting as he spoke. "Not for real."

An unsettling possibility occurred to Pietro and he had to ask, "Is it unexpected for you, this being attracted to men thing?"

"No. I've always known I was attracted to both…" Steve's sentence trailed off, like an unfinished thought.

Pietro waited for him to say something, anything more but the awkward silence grew.

Finally, unable to stand it, Pietro let his frustration speak.

"You had sex. With a ghost. In a dream. And you're going to let it get weird because the ghost was a dude?"

Steve lifted his head, looking startled. "NO. That's not. No. It's just, my experience up until now has been limited by circumstance. I haven't been with many people. What I did do, was usually quick and furtive between shows or missions. And this was…"

He waved his hand between them, searching for words.

Pietro smirked and offered him a few.

"Amazing? Fantastic? Mind-blowing?"

"All of the above." Steve laughed but relaxed back against Pietro. "Only, you're not—I mean you're…"

"Only, you still think I'm some kind of subconscious manifestation and that makes it weird."

Steve sighed and reached over stroke Pietro's cheek. "I didn't even know you before. And I felt awkward talking to Wanda when I was just making up imaginary conversations with you. I feel weird. Like I'm taking advantage of you in some way. You're not even around to tell me to stop being a creep."

"Nothing I say is going to make you believe I'm real, is it? Well, a ghost, but I still have a mind of my own. I'm still making my own decisions. And my decision was definitely to be here. Now. Exactly like this."

"I want to believe that. And that's the problem."

"I've touched you. Before. During the day. I know you feel me because you freeze and look around—" Pietro stopped, catching sight of Steve's doubtful expression. "And that makes absolutely no difference because, you still think even that is in your head."

Pietro pressed a soft kiss to Steve's lips and whispered, "I wish I knew how to prove to you that I'm real."

Steve brushed his thumb over Pietro's cheekbone looking wistful and serious. "I wish you did, too."

The klaxon rang around them and the bedroom scene shivered around them.

"God—"

Abruptly back next to Steve's real bed in his boringly utilitarian quarters, Pietro finished softly, "Damn it."

*

Steve groaned and pushed himself out of bed, refusing to dwell on the dream. There was trouble to deal with now. He'd deal with his rapidly increasing issues later.

He tugged on his uniform with practice and efficiency pausing only when it came time to tug on his boots.

As he bent over to yank the first one into place, he could have sworn he felt the soft brush of _something_ along his cheek.

"Pietro?" he whispered. The sensation trailed along his skin again. He wanted to believe. More than anything he wanted it to be real.

Instead, Steve squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, steadying breath.

Then he pulled on the other boot and ran for the Quinjet hangar. The alarm to assemble was still blaring. There were people waiting for him. Depending on him.

His breakdown could wait.

He was the last one to board and, of course, that left him sitting in a jumpseat next to Wanda. Guilt and uncertainty made his breathing tight and, from the heat of his cheeks, had him blushing like a school boy as well.

He'd just spent a night dreaming about her dead brother. In an inappropriate and creepy way. Maybe he should send himself for a psych eval, after all.

Yet, the memory of that ghostly touch kept asserting itself. He'd felt something. But was that something his imagination? Or a delusion? He'd never believed in ghosts.

Then again, a couple of years ago, he wouldn't have believed Norse gods were real.

When the jet landed, Steve was the first one off, looking forward to facing the enemy. Fighting Beastmaster would be much easier than wrestling with a metaphysical conundrum.

An hour later, Steve was less grateful.

Beastmaster had dropped a building on him and Wanda. He'd shielded them from the worst of the falling rubble but they were trapped until the others finished the fight and dug them out.

Wanda was pale and shaking next to him. Awkwardly, feeling like the last person in the world who should be comforting her, he asked, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

She gave him a tight smile and shrugged. "I'm fine. No physical damage other than bruises and scrapes. Just don't like small, enclosed spaces with no way out."

"Yeah. I get that."

He couldn't help thinking about Pietro and all the conversations they'd had about the exact same thing. But it wasn't new information. Or, at least, it wasn't hard to extrapolate from what he'd already known about the twins. His heart kept trying to twist circumstance and coincidence into some kind of evidence. He had to be careful not to let it overwhelm his common sense.

He was considering his options, wondering if he should talk to someone in medical and risk the repercussions when Wanda started singing. The words were hauntingly sweet, but it was the melody that stole Steve's attention.

It was that song. The lullaby he'd heard from Pietro in his dreams. He stared open-mouthed and confused. When Wanda noticed, she stopped singing and raised her chin defiantly like she expected him to make an unpleasant comment.

"Sorry. It's a song we used to sing when…" she shrugged. "When things were bad."

"No, it's—" Steve choked for minute, swallowing the mention of Pietro that nearly escaped his lips. "It's beautiful. Familiar. Have you sung it before?"

"Not recently. Not since—" Wanda's mouth tightened and she blinked. But no tears fell and she composed herself quickly.

"Not since Pietro died. It was like a secret between us, you know? I haven't wanted to sing it. But this, it reminded me so much of that time. Singing helped push the worst of the memories away."

"I'm sorry," Steve said helplessly, not sure if how to make things better.

They were both quiet again, Steve lost in his thoughts, tangled in a quagmire of hope, logic, doubt and need.

If she'd never sang it, if he'd never heard it, how had he dreamed it?

"Steve, are _you_ okay?"

Before he thought better of it, the question foremost on his mind blurted out of his mouth. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"What?" Her surprise turned to concern and she rested her hand on his forearm. "Steve, what's going on with you?"

Before he could take it back. Or, worse, let slip any more wild conjecture, the sound of rescue distracted them and gave him respite.

It didn't stop Wanda from watching him like a hawk all the way back to base. And her scrutiny didn't escape Sam or Natasha's notice, either. He knew he'd be having several uncomfortable conversations later. Steve just didn't know how he was going to answer them.

He had no proof that Pietro was a ghost. He wasn't even sure whether _he_ believed it or not. Was telling Wanda that her brother might be a restless spirit she can't even communicate with really better than letting her believe he was at peace?

Especially if it was only some complicated delusion? All he had to go on was a song. Maybe she'd hummed it at the memorial and they'd both forgotten. Or maybe he'd overheard her or Pietro sing it on the way back to New York and Stark's lab.

Ignoring the veiled looks of concern and speculation all through the plane ride and debriefing, Steve was the first one out of the room when they finished.

For weeks, he's been avoiding Pietro's memorial. Steve wanted to keep the image of him whole and strong. Didn't want it marred by bullet holes or the unnatural stillness that was nothing like Pietro in life. Or dreams.

Now, he needed to see it. To remind himself the man was dead. That he never really knew the person in the stasis pod.

The lights came on automatically in the storage room that held Pietro's memorial and Steve had to pause in the doorway. Had to take a second to gather his courage and resolve before stepping up to the pod. With one last, fortifying breath, he pressed the button and watched the frosted glass clear.

Saw Pietro's smooth face, pale and still. His hair still disarrayed. The bloodstain clothes—

Shock pushed all the air out his lungs and he made a soft, strangled sound of disbelief.

*

Like always, Pietro waited for the team in the hangar when the Quinjet landed then trailed them through the debriefing.

Steve's strained look and the worried glance of all the other Avengers throughout the debrief worried Pietro. Especially when Steve made a beeline for the door the second they finished.

But Wanda was covered in scrapes and bruises and he needed to hover close and check on her. He wouldn't be able to find out what was wrong with Steve until he went to sleep anyway. So he followed his sister as she walked out of the room with Falcon.

"What's up with Cap?" Wilson was asking her when he moved closer.

"I'm not sure." Wanda said, and her mouth pinched into a frown. "He seemed weird when we were trapped, though."

"Weird, how?"

"Really intense. Even more than usual, for him. He asked me if I believed in ghosts."

If Pietro had had a body, he would have jumped. Why the hell would Steve do that? _He_ didn't believe Pietro was actually a ghost.

"He wasn't getting any sleep for a while and I called him on it. He seemed better this past week, though, so I let it go. Maybe I should have talked medical about him after all."

"It wasn't like he was seeing ghosts or anything. And you guys showed up right after, so I didn't get a chance to talk to him. Maybe he meant metaphorically, or something. Maybe you should go talk to him. You're his best friend, here. He'll talk to you."

"Yeah. Did you see which way he went?"

Wanda frowned a little and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Towards medical. I didn't think he was hurt in the building collapse. Did we miss something?"

"I doubt it, but I'll check on him. You should get some rest. Those bruises look nasty."

"I'm fine. I'm coming with you."

They headed purposefully toward medical and Pietro didn't hesitate to follow. When they found Steve, Pietro felt like he should have been more surprised discover Steve was in the makeshift tomb. He froze in the doorway. After determining that straying too far always brought him back here, he'd managed to avoid the place. Knowing he had a body someplace and actually being confronted with the fact were two entirely different things.

Sam stepped a couple of feet inside the room but Wanda stopped just inside the doorway. Pietro stuck close to her. Seeing his bullet-riddled body once had been plenty. He didn't need a second snapshot of that image in his head.

"Steve," Sam called quietly, trying not to startle the super soldier. "What's up? What are you doing in here? Is everything okay?"

He was obviously puzzled but just as obviously trying not to let any of his concern filter into his voice.

"I don't know," Steve answered, voice tight as he continued to stare down at the stasis chamber in front of him. "I need you to come see this. I need you to tell me if I'm hallucinating or not."

Sam stopped even trying to hide his worry, exchanging anxious glances with Wanda when he crossed the room to stand next to Steve.

"Steve, what's going on with—" he cut himself off mid-word when he looked down, eyes bulging in shock. "Holy shit. What the hell?"

"What? What's wrong with Pietro?" Wanda ran across the room, then sagged when she looked into the case, before glancing at the two men beside her.

"Oh. I don't understand."

Pietro couldn't hold back any longer. Forcing himself to look, at first he saw only what he saw the day of his memorial service. Dirt matted hair, bloody sweater.

But a glint of metal caught the light, and he realized there were bullets scattered all around his body. Shiny new skin peeked through the ripped fabric where open wounds had marred his body.

"Is he…" Wanda asked.

"I don't know," Steve answered with grim determination. "But we need to find out. Sam, go get Dr. Cho."

Ten minutes later the room was nearly as packed as it had been the first time Pietro had seen it.

Dr. Cho was fussing over a tablet she had interfaced with the stasis chamber. Several nurses, medical technicians and assorted underlings scurried to ready equipment and offer her information when she barked out questions.

Steve, Wanda and Sam had been joined by Natasha, Vision and Fury and they stood in one corner. Out of the way of the medical staff but unwilling to leave. Pietro stayed with them wishing he could reach out for Wanda's hand or lean into Steve's shoulder for a moment of comfort.

Then the tablet beeped at Dr. Cho and her commands became frantic shouts and the action the stasis chamber became chaotic.

Before he knew it, his body was free of its metal coffin, transferred to a gurney and hooked up to more machines and wires and tubes than he could count. Then the medical team, along with his body, rushed out of the tiny room and the Avengers ran to follow in their wake.

Afraid of almost all the possibilities, Pietro stuck close to Steve and hoped for the best.

*

When Cho allowed them into the room, Pietro was in a biobed, hooked up to diagnostic machine and monitors of all sorts. Someone had replaced the blood stained clothes with a simple hospital gown. The glare of medical bay lighting emphasized the steady rise and fall of Pietro's chest, and Steve started let himself start to believe in a miracle.

 Steve kept his eyes locked on Pietro's pale face while he listened to Cho's long-winded explanation. He only understood one word in ten of all the medical jargon, but he got the gist of it.

Like Steve, the changes to Pietro's physiology had accelerated his metabolism which also accelerated his ability to heal. Even with this healing ability, however, the trauma and blood loss would have killed him before his body had a chance of healing itself.

The stasis chamber on the Helicarrier was an obsolete model, one that didn't completely halt metabolic processes. It slowed them down to such a degree that it was impossible to tell the difference, though.

However, the fact that it stopped the bleeding but allowed Pietro's increased metabolic abilities to continue gave his body a chance to slowly heal itself from the inside out.

"So he's alive?" Wanda asked. "He's going to be okay?"

Cho's face smoothed out into a professionally blank look, and Steve's stomach sank. He knew, whatever she said next, he wasn't going to like it.

"His body is alive. Incredibly healthy and strong, considering the trauma it incurred." She paused, eyes softening and breaking her stoic doctor mask when she saw the tears already gathering in her eyes. "I'm afraid there is no brain activity, though. Pietro, as you know him, is gone."

Wanda choked on her sob, dropping her face into her hands to hide her devastation. Vision awkwardly offered her comfort while all the others talked over each other with questions and clarifications and things Steve didn't want to hear.

_Pietro is gone._

Steve, silent and lost, stared at the meaningless steady rise and fall of Pietro's chest.

_Pietro is gone._

A shiver ran along his forearm and he ignored it. An imaginary press on his shoulder. Then another.

_Pietro is gone._

"No," Steve said, sharp and sure. Doubts and regret clearing so that he finally saw the truth. "No, he's not. Pietro in _not_ gone."

The room dropped into silence, every eye on him. Wanda wiped the trail of tears off her cheek and simply said, "Steve?"

With a deep, steadying breath, Steve started talking. He explained about the dreams. The phantom touches. The lullaby.

When he was done, the silence was still heavy but now the stares were a mix of concern, incredulity and undisguised skepticism.

Fury cleared his throat and started to speak, but Sam jumped in.

"Steve, are you still having trouble sleeping?" The question was asked diplomatically, but the careful way he spoke gave away his doubt and concern.

"It's not a delusion brought on by sleep deprivation," Steve insisted. Up until an hour ago, he might have been convinced of that. Now, though, he was certain Pietro was alive. And he would move heaven and earth to find a way to reconnect Pietro's spirit with his body.

Vision, though, had been the only one not staring at Steve. He'd been thoughtfully scanning the room.

"I did note an unusual energy matrix in flickering briefly near Steve," Vision murmured then tilted his head and spoke louder, to the room in general. "Pietro, if you are here, can you make contact with Steve again?"

A cool chill slid across Steve's cheek and he shivered.

"There, yes. There is an unusual energy signature in the room."

"But how?" Wanda asked. "And why Steve? Why not me?"

"He tried you first," Steve said, remembering the pained look on Pietro's face when he'd talked about his first few days after waking up in the Avenger's facility. "He said that it felt like a wall had been built across the bond the two of you shared. I'm the only one he could even touch, and we could only communicate when I was asleep. I don't know why."

"It may be because Steve spent an extended amount of time in that same sort of suspended animation," Vision suggested. "It may have made him more attuned to the metaphysical state Pietro is currently inhabiting."

"All of that is very interesting," Fury drawled. "I'm sure it will make for an enthralling report. But, the question is, can we stuff Pietro back into his body?"

"I think so," Vision said, moving closer and placing his hands on Pietro's unmoving arm. Then he lifted his chin and spoke to the empty air. "Pietro, if you could attempt to make contact with you physical body, please?"

The jewel on Vision's forehead began to glow softly. Tension and anticipation filled the room and Steve's eyes stayed locked on Pietro's unmoving form.

Then the glow flashed in a blinding light that filled the room for several seconds. Before the spots cleared from Steve's sight, a new beeping sound added to the hum of machines in the room. Dr. Cho stared down at her diagnostic tablet with surprise.

"His brain activity is normal." She looked up with a soft, relieved smile curving her lips. "Well, normal for a coma."

That led to another round of people talking over top of one another in a cacophony of questions. Steve ignored them all, stepping closer to the bed and staring at Pietro. Searching for any sign that he'd be okay.

Movement on the opposite side of the bed made him look up to find Wanda watching him curiously.

He swallowed hard and tried to figure out what to say to her. How to explain that he'd been hoarding her brother all to himself for weeks without telling her.

"Enough!" Cho shouted, cutting through the din of voices, pulling both of their attention. "I can't give timelines or specifics because I've never dealt with a disembodied spirit reanimating a super-healed body. I let you all know more as soon as I know more. In the meantime, everyone out."

She dismissed everyone with an offhand wave. As she started another examination of her patient, she added, "Except Wanda, of course."

Reluctantly, the team left with a minimum of grumbling. Steve was the last one in the line filing out of the door, but he couldn't help looking back one more time. Wanda had taken the chair next to the bed, her hand clutching Pietro's. But she was watching him. Steve winced and started to turn away.

"Steve," Wanda called, stopping him mid-turn. "I could use some company. If Dr. Cho thinks it's all right?"

The doctor frowned but nodded before returning to her examination. Steve grabbed the chair in the corner and resisted the urge to pull it closer. If he didn't want to chance getting kicked out a second time, he needed to stay out of the way.

After Cho left the room, he expected Wanda to ask about the dreams or her brother or something.

Instead, they sat in comfortable, silent vigil.

*

Pietro floated hazily for a long time, uncertain but unconcerned. Sounds were the first thing to penetrate the fog surrounding his awareness. The steady beep and hum of monitors.

Then scents drifted in. The sharp, clinical scent of a place regularly wiped down with antiseptic thoroughness.

After a long struggle, he forced his eyelids open enough to see through narrow slits. Bright fluorescent lights and stark white ceiling.

Must be another of von Strucker's experiments, then. His body ached and felt stiff but there wasn't any fiery pain or unending agony assaulting his every sense, so this one couldn't have been too bad.

The beeping of one of the machines changed and the hand he hadn't even noticed holding his tightened.

"Pietro!"

He turned his head and Wanda was there, leaning over him with a relieved smile but a sparkle of tears still clinging to her eyelashes.

Huh, the experiment must have been worse than he'd assumed if she looked that relieved to see him awake. That he didn't remember anything was probably a blessing. Not that it mattered, now. The lethargy that made him heavy and sluggish was already fading, and he flexed his muscles in rapid succession, assuring himself that everything was still in working order.

Wanda leaned over and hugged him in a strangling grip, a wave of pure joy rushing along the bond between them. When he pushed a little reassurance back, she sobbed against his shoulder but the joy doubled.

"Wanda?"

She sat up, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Her smile was broad and real though.

"It's fine. I'm fine. It's just been so long…"

A soft scraping sound drew both of their attention to the corner of the room. Captain America sat there looking stunned and hopeful, for some reason. When Pietro's eyes met his, he smiled and opened his mouth to speak. Pietro didn't give a damn about what he had to say.

In a blur, he ripped the tubes and leads from his body. He didn't know how the Avengers had captured them, or what they'd done to him, but Pietro wasn't going to wait around to find out. Scooping his sister up, he had them out the door and a few meters down the corridor before Captain America could get the first syllable out.

Unfortunately, that was a far as he got before the weakness returned. His body felt like dead weight and he had to stop and catch his breath, leaning heavily against the wall.

Wanda half-caught him, taking some of his weight to keep him from sliding to the floor. Worry etched deep lines between her eyes. "Pietro, no. You're still recovering. You need to go back and rest."

"Wanda, I'm not going to let you stay their prisoner because I'm a little tired. I'm going to get us out of here. Then I can rest."

He tried to push himself away from the wall, but her hand on his shoulder was enough to hold him there.

"Don't. We're not prisoners. We're safe here," she spoke softly, a wave of certainty and assurance pushed along the bond. It didn't make sense. They hated Stark, and by extension, his team. The Avengers.

Captain America rushed out of the room but stopped in his tracks when he saw them in the hall. Pietro tensed, but Wanda squeezed his shoulder in reassurance and gave Rogers an apologetic half-smile.

She seemed to be completely comfortable and unconcerned. The confusion and exhaustion were taking their toll on Pietro. He'd never doubted his sister's instinct before. He wasn't going to start now. Still, he needed to understand.

"What happened? How did we end up here?"

Wanda bit her lip and exchanged looks with Rogers. "What do you remember, Pietro?"

"The Avengers attacked von Strucker. He was holding us back, but we decided to go out and prove ourselves."

"Nothing after that? Not Ultron? Or Novi Grad? Or Steve?"

Pietro shook his head in frustration. Something was wrong but he didn't know what. Wanda looked sad, the relief and joy replaced by a heavy concern. Rogers looked stricken. Then he straightened his shoulders and stepped out of the door.

Pietro automatically shifted to put himself between his sister and the Avenger. Rogers froze, and his face went blank before he held up his hands. Like the fact that he was weaponless would make feel Pietro safer. He knew enough about the man to know he was a weapon all on his own.

"I'm going to go get Dr. Cho." His attention shifted to Wanda and something silent and sad passed between them. "You should get him back to bed. I'll stay away until… Until he's more comfortable."

Rogers walked by them quickly, giving them plenty of room as he passed. He kept his eyes forward and avoided contact.

When he reached the corner, though, Rogers looked back seeming almost in spite of himself. His eyes locked on them like he expected something to happen. Hoped something would change. When it didn't, Rogers shook his head slightly, face blanking into an unreadable expression before he slipped around the corner.

In that moment, Pietro felt a tug of… something. It couldn't be regret. He was happy to see Captain America get as far away from him as possible.

Wasn't he?

*

Two weeks later, Steve was finishing off a twenty mile run by beating up a few unsuspecting heavy bags.

He knew Pietro was doing well, recovering physically. The few times Steve had seen him, though, Pietro had still looked wary and uncomfortable with being around any Avenger. The last time he'd walked into the cafeteria when Wanda and Pietro had been there, Pietro had flinched when they made eye contact.

Steve had been actively avoiding them ever since. Whatever… friendship… that had begun between them, it was over.

At this point, Steve should be used to losing people abruptly and irrevocably. It still hurt like a bitch.

He let loose a flurry of punches to release the burning anger, frustration and heartache. The last connected so hard, it split the back from top to bottom.

"You know, the rest of us have to use this equipment, too."

He spun around to find Wanda leaning against the door of the gym. Hearing her voice, his first thought was _Pietro._ But her brother was nowhere to be seen. He turned back toward the bag and started picking at the tape on his hands.

"Hey, I, uh, got a little carried away. I'll clean this up and then you can have the gym all to yourself. Or, you know, anyone you plan to work out with."

Wanda grabbed the broom and dustpan while Steve took care of the broken bag.

"Pietro's at physical therapy," she said conversationally as she swept. "He doesn't really need it, but I think it's medicals way of keeping tabs on mental recovery as well as his physical one."

Steve opened his mouth then closed it quickly, remembering he had no right to ask. Wanda rolled her eyes.

"Which is fine, too. He's settling in. Accepting that the Avengers aren't our enemy, even if he can't actually remember how it happened."

"Good. That's good," Steve repeated himself because he had no idea what else to say.

They continued to work in silence after that. When the room was clean, Steve cleared his throat, angled himself toward the door and an escape from the uncomfortable awkwardness.

Wanda obviously had other ideas, because she put herself between him and the door.

"So, we haven't had a chance to talk since you announced you were in contact with my brother's ghost."

Steve winced, the guilt he'd been carrying doubled in weight and he dropped his head.

"I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I swear I didn't think he was real. I thought it was a dream. I didn't even let myself suspect until you and I were trapped."

Wanda's mouth twitched into a small smile.

"You thought you were having intimate dreams about my dead brother, who you barely knew, and you didn't think that was weird?"

Steve felt like he'd stuck his head in an oven from the abrupt heat suffusing his cheeks. He knew she didn't mean _intimate_ like that. Hoped she didn't know.

"Of course I thought it was weird. I thought it was a messed up metaphor my subconscious dreamed up. That somehow, out of all the people and things I've lost, I get the ghost of someone I barely knew. I couldn't even have Bucky or Peggy in my dreams."

Steve turned away and looked longingly at the newly replaced heavy bag. But punching things hadn't made the pain go away the first time, it probably wouldn't this time either.

"And yet, somehow Pietro became—" he swallowed back the instinctive end to that sentence. _The best thing that ever happened to me._ "He became important to me. He became a friend."

She must have heard the way his voice crack, the way he wasn't saying even half of what he felt. He was grateful when she didn't call him on it.

"What would you have done if you had known it was real? He was real?"

Steve turned back to stare at her, incredulous that she even had to ask.

"I'd have told you. Immediately. I'd have found a way to save him."

"Even if you'd known it meant the end of the dreams, and the friendship that was important to you?"

"Of course," he answered. There was a twinge of regret, but he'd never have let Pietro or Wanda suffer for his own selfishness.

Wanda nodded and smiled like she'd heard more in his answer than just his words.

"He's starting to remember things, you know. It helps when he sees or hears familiar things. Watching footage from the battle with Ultron was difficult, but it helped him piece together some fragments."

She paused and stared at him with an intensity that suggested she was trying to tell him something significant. And she wanted to make sure he understood.

"I'm going shopping with Natasha. Never know how long that's going to take. I hate for Pietro to be alone that long. It would be good for him to have a friend to talk to. To pass the time."

She walked out leaving Steve to think about it. More than anything, he wanted to go to Pietro. To see if they could resurrect the friendship, at least.

But Steve couldn't help remembering the wariness in Pietro's when he woke up. The way he'd run at the sight of Steve. The way he'd flinched when their eyes accidentally met.

But Steve had never been a quitter and he'd never been a coward.

*

Pietro was restless and frustrated and his newly assigned quarters felt like a cage. He actually had the urge to pace it at top speed, the way he used to do in von Strucker's lab. But it wouldn't help. Running wouldn't let him escape his own head.

Images. Flashes of sound. Snippets of conversation. Pieces of his life he couldn't remember kept slipping in. Tantalizing bits and pieces that wouldn't fit together no matter how he tried to make them.

And then there were the incredibly detailed and vivid dreams of Captain America that made absolutely no sense.

Wanda and Cho kept preaching patience but waiting was never his strong suit.

Unfortunately, no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't catch up to those chunks of his life he was missing.

At least they'd finally let him out of medical. Familiarizing himself with a building that already seemed uncomfortably familiar had taken him all of ten minutes at half-speed.

_Don't push yourself, Pietro. Your body and your brain have been through a lot of trauma._

He'd heard the annoying refrain every day. The worst part was that his sister was right. Sort of. He'd tired easily the first few days. Had found himself sore from exertion for the first time in years.

That was mostly behind him now, but his sister and Cho were still insisting he _take it easy._

He'd been dead for weeks. How much easier should he take it? Sitting in his room alone was not improving his mood.

So, when someone knocked, his first inclination was to throw something and shout at them to go away. Followed by the realization that company might mitigate the unending boredom he'd been enduring since his sister had announced she was going shopping.

The all-American science project was the last person he'd expected to see on the other side of the door.

They'd been doing a good job of avoiding each other so far. Pietro avoided Rogers because the dreams he had about the man probably violated lewdness laws in a dozen countries.

He had no idea why Rogers was avoiding him.

Everybody told him it was Captain America who had figured out he was alive-ish after all. That Pietro had somehow been able to invade the super-soldier's dreams. Nobody seemed to know what had happened in those dreams before Rogers realized it was real.

Maybe it was time to get some answers.

"Come in," he said and stepped back.

Steve dipped his chin in acknowledgment and walked past Pietro. He stopped in the middle of the room and stood a little too military-straight to be comfortable.

Silence, awkward and tense, charged the room and Pietro was not in the mood for subtle.

"I have dreams about you."

Rogers's eyes finally met Pietro's, wide with surprise and confusion.

"What—" Rogers's voice broke a little and he cleared his throat. "What kind of dreams?"

Who knew a super-soldier could blush like that?

Deciding to push it, he leered and leaned closer. "I think you know what kind of dreams."

Rogers's eyes dropped the hands curled tight at his sides.

"I'm sorry."

An apology was not the response Pietro expected, but he covered his surprise and asked, "Are you? Really?"

"Yes. No. I don't," he stopped, took a deep breath, forced his hands still and his head up. "I want… I hoped you'd remember. I don't want you to suffer the frustration of not remembering. But I don't want you to regret anything you might remember."

The blush faded and lines of frustration deepened around his mouth.

Huh. Maybe _that_ particular dream had been a memory after all. Or, well the memory of a dream.

It was all a little too philosophical for him. He was more an act first, think later kind of guy.

In a flash, he was across the room, crowding into Steve's space. When Steve started to step back, Pietro grabbed his shoulders to hold him in place.

With a soft sound, halfway between a sob and a sigh, Steve dropped his head to rest against Pietro's. It felt so familiar and comfortable, it took Pietro a second to realize they'd never actually done this. At least, not outside of dreams he didn't fully remember.

Then Steve's hand curled tentatively around his waist and he whispered, "Pietro?"

He sounded scared and hopeful, and Pietro _knew_. He may only have bits and pieces of memory and dreams, but he _felt_ something that was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. Part of his frustration since being revived was the sense that something was missing. That somehow his life was incomplete.

Steve was the missing piece.

His hands slipped up to cradle Steve's jaw and pressed in until their lips met in a soft caress.

There was no magical flood of memories. But the sense memory was so strong, the emotional wave so overwhelming it left no room for doubt that this was something he wanted.

"Did we ever do this for real? Or just in dreams?"

"Just the dreams."

"Too bad," he murmured

He shifted to slant his mouth over Steve's again, taking it deeper and giving in to the edge of need creeping in.

Steve kissed him back, giving and sweet and slightly desperate until they were both gasping. He pulled back reluctantly, searching Pietro's face for answers he obviously wasn't finding.

"Wait. You still don't remember anything?"

"I remember enough," he said with a smirk and tried to shift closer, but the damn super-soldier strength kept him in place. Big, sad eyes stared at him, and Pietro practically saw Steve retreating behind the mile-high wall labeled _honor_ and _duty._

With a sigh, he said. "I remember walking through Brooklyn. I remember a beach at sunset. And I remember that you preferred a bed to the sand."

Steve choked, adorable pink staining is cheekbones.

"I'm remembering a little more every day. I feel things, though, about stuff I only half remember." He took a deep breath. "I missed you. Without realizing what I was missing. I would see or hear something and think I had to tell someone. Except I couldn't remember who. Or why. Just knew they weren't around."

Steve winced a little, guilt tightening his eyes. "Sorry."

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Don't. In the beginning, I would have been confused and angry if you'd been hanging around."

Steve finally stopped trying to put distance between them, the hand on his waist curled a little pulling them fractionally closer and Pietro relaxed. He moved his hand to the back of Steve's neck and pulled them even tighter together, until their breath mingle.

"So, are we going to do this for real or are just settle for dreams and passive-aggressive moping?"

"For real," Steve whispered and pressed a fleeting kiss on Pietro's lips. "But slowly. We need to get to know each other again."

Pietro rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He was certain he'd convince Steve his idea of 'getting to know each other' was better.

This time, when their mouths met, there was no holding back. Everything he felt but couldn't name went into the kiss and was matched with equal fervor from Steve.

Sometimes, reality beat dreams, hands down.

 


End file.
